


You're Insane

by TheJokersEnigma



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11121114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJokersEnigma/pseuds/TheJokersEnigma
Summary: Frankie Killan is a new Police Officer at the GCPD desperate to prove she is just as capable as any equivalent man, she is also new to Gotham and has never heard of the Joker. That is until she makes the regrettable mistake of trying to handcuff him.He has other plans then following her to the GCPD and wants to show her his city.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I've just started this little project of mine as I am planning to end my other series relatively soon.  
> This quite a short start but if people like it I will quite happily continue on with the rest of it!  
> Let me know what you think!

“Good Morning.” Fran greeted the official looking man leaning on the GCPD’s front desk.  
“Mornin’.” The man grunted back without turning around. When he realised she hadn’t moved on he glanced over his shoulder, immediately straightening up as he took in the unfamiliar face and then frowning at her new, neatly pressed uniform. “I mean - good morning, Miss uh…”  
“Officer Frankie Killan.” She stated, ignoring his previous dismissive tone, instead offering a hand which the other officer took, “I’m new.” She clarified as they both shook hands firmly.  
“Righ’.” Nodded the man in front of her, “Detective Harvey Bullock.” He greeted, visibly relaxing again now he knew he wasn’t going to get reprimanded again for rudeness to the public. He leant over the desk to grab a folder on the other side whilst the desk sergeant busied himself with sorting through a filing cabinet. “Didn’t realise we were recruiting.” He said as Fran watched his movements with a frown of disapproval – she was pretty sure protocol meant you had to inform the desk sergeant that you were taking any important papers.  
Harvey straightened up and turned his back to the front desk so the sergeant didn’t see the papers in his hand. He began to move away, flicking through folder’s content as he went. If Fran had been smart she would have left the interaction there – the man clearly wasn’t use to a polite human conversation – but instead she followed on behind him, “What’s that?” she questioned over his shoulder.  
He glanced back in surprise that soon became annoyance at the new lost puppy on his heels. He stopped, turning to face her, “Aren’t you suppose to report to the Captain?” He asked grumpily, hinting for her to get lost – she would have to learn soon that you didn’t butt into other people’s business here.  
She didn’t look phased by his attitude and seemed to completely ignore his hint – this girl was going to be toast here. “I’m early, I’ve got time.” She explained, as if her schedule was the actual problem.  
Fran heard the detective grumble something before he began to walk off again - and she could have sworn it was at least a couple of curse words. She didn’t let this bother her – he clearly didn’t want to share, but this just piqued her interest even more and she jogged a few steps to catch back up with him again.  
“So what is the folder?”  
Harvey groaned silently, “It’s jus’ some info on a guy we’ve been chasin’.” He told her reluctantly – anything to get rid of her, “I like ta refresh me memory every time he shows his ugly mug.”  
“Who is it?”  
Harvey rolled his eyes; she was a persistent little Gnat. “The Joker.”  
“Who’s that?”  
“Ha funny.” He snorted, not bothering to look at her as they climbed up some steps.  
“I’m serious, what’s his crime?”  
Something in her voice forced Harvey to stop again, halfway up the small set of stairs. He crinkled his brow, bewildered, “You’re kiddin’ right?” He asked and shook his head in disbelief when Fran shook her head at him, “You don’t know who the Joker is?!” He demanded loudly, causing a few looks from the officers nearby, but he brushed them off with a vague apologetic gesture in their direction.  
“Should I?” Fran asked, confused by the sudden outburst.  
“Everyone in bloody Gotham knows him!” Harvey growled, trying to stop himself from yelling again as he resumed climbing the steps and led them both to his desk where he promptly threw himself into his chair.  
“Well that explains it, I’ve only just moved here.” She told him cheerfully and he just glared at her annoyingly chirpy attitude. There was a pause whilst she watched Harvey boot up the computer in front of him, placing the folder to the side of the desk. He clearly didn’t want to engage with her anymore - too bad she wasn’t done yet.  
“Can I have a look?” She asked, already reaching for the folder.  
Harvey snatched it out from under her outstretched hand, “Why?” He snapped, holding the folder defensively.  
She flinched at his quick retraction of the folder, “I just wanted to know what all the fuss was about!” She exclaimed innocently, “And - you never know – maybe I could help!” She suggested.  
He snorted, “Trust me; you don’t wanna get caught up with this guy. Leave this to the professionals.”  
“I am a professional!” She cried in annoyance, gesturing at her uniform and badge.  
“Trust me kid,” Harvey soothed, raising the palm of his free hand out to her in an attempt to calm her, “Sit this one out.” He was trying to be nice, but he could tell she was taking it the wrong way. “Anyway – I’m sure Cap’ll have plen’y of other things for you to do.” He told her, directing his focus back to his computer screen, hoping that was enough to get rid of her.  
This time it was - she knew she couldn’t persuade him of her ability to be in on his case. So - much to Harvey’s relief - Fran moved off, slowly heading towards the Captain of the GCPD’s office door, her thoughts heavily occupied.  
She was so desperate to get something big to prove she wasn’t a useless little girl – God knows people still frowned at the idea of a woman police officer. She put up with a lot of hell throughout her training for being a female and she was ready to prove she was just as tough and capable as anyone else.  
However, she wasn’t afraid to play the cute innocent card if it got her somewhere – like trying to befriend or annoy colleagues like she had with detective. Fran knew she was good at reading people, she could often work out what buttons to push to get what she wanted, for example - Harvey. He was clearly a grumpy untrusting guy, so - sure she could have spent months trying to gain his trust, only for that to easily be knocked down in a matter of seconds – but she could also be so cute and annoying towards him that he would get so fed up he’d do whatever it took to get rid of her – even tell her things. It was a fun game to play sometimes.  
However everyone had a limit and she knew she wasn’t going to get any further with Harvey now. However she was going to get a look at that folder if it killed her, she thought as she knocked on the Captain’s door and entered with a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys,
> 
> So this will be my new fanfiction series I’ll focus on once Deadly Voice is finished, but because I’m having a momentary lapse in imagination and ideas for Deadly Voice I thought I give this one a go for the moment as I still wanted to write.
> 
> Firstly - yes this I’ve changed the name - it use to be called That’s You, but I didn’t like that name (I’m not sure about this name either but we’ll see)
> 
> Secondly - I am writing this as a Arkham Joker Fan fiction, but tbh, if you can imagine it working for any other Joker I won’t take offense if you want to see it as a Jaredleto Joker or whatever other Joker you want (personally Arkham Joker is just my favourite)
> 
> Thirdly - Yes I have changed from third person to first person - I just naturally write in first person so I stopped fighting it - sorry if that’s annoying, i’ll keep it in first person from now on!
> 
> Fourthly - Yes I have put a name to the character in the first chapter - I will keep it, but feel free to turn it into a reader fan fiction in your own mind!
> 
> My writing is what you make it!
> 
> Anyway, I think that’s it - hope you enjoy! :)

I was fed up.  
I had been sat at my new desk all day working non-stop - not that the desk was new – in fact it looked to be the oldest and most worn out one in the entire room. This was not made any better by the fact the view was terrible – there was none - it was literally a pillar. A pillar.   
If I wanted to see the rest of the room I had to crane my neck around the huge thing. This meant that I missed out on all the interesting things that actually took place around me – like the thugs brought in or the brawls that broke out amongst the criminals in the holding cells. I felt so left out from the rest of the things going on I even wished I could see the other officers arguing over whose case was whose or who had taken the last donut.  
But no.  
It was just me and the pillar.  
Great.  
I let out a long sigh in defeat.  
I had honestly really hoped that I’d have been put on a case straight away – a foolish hope I now realised. The captain of GCPD had done exactly what every other male in the room had done when I had walked in. Tagged me by my gender and decided I would have to prove myself to some extraordinary standard that no man ever had to.  
That meant I was not yet ‘good enough’ – despite my rigorous training and high grades to land this job in the first place – to be put on a case. Instead, I had been landed with all the paperwork that the older officers couldn’t be bothered to do.   
So, whilst they were out roaming the streets and responding to calls, I was sat writing out all their reports they felt were too boring to waste their own time on. I couldn’t complain though. That would only set me even further away from getting a chance on a case – no one liked a whiner. Especially no a girl.  
So, I had spent the entire day slowly whittling my way through the pile I had been given, writing up document, after document of petty crimes and inappropriate behaviour which only ever added up to a night or two in a cell.  
I pulled the next blank report in front of me, shaking my right hand where it was cramping – and had been for the last two hours. I glanced back at my pile – at least I was now over 2/3rds of the way through, I observed thankfully. This would be the last for the day, I told myself.   
I had hoped to get them all done before I left, but the evening was wearing on and I was already the last person in the main hall - most of the officers off on evening duty or already retired for the night. I peered around the large stone pillar and noted all the empty desks sat forlorn in the darkness, the only decent light in the room coming from the small lamp sat on the desk next to me, pouring a warm glow on my paperwork.   
I had been debating staying late to finish the work, but I had overestimated my ability, my eyes dropping, my mind making mistakes, and my handwriting becoming messier as the muscles in my hand protested.  
My plan was simple for this place was simple - complete all the menial tasks I was given as quickly and thoroughly as possible until they eventually ran out of things for me to do – then they would be forced to let me on a case.  
I rubbed at my eyes, trying to fight back her heavy lids, God knew how long it would take though for my plan to work. I stretched my arms up over my head, feeling my joints click from the lack of movement. I glanced back down at the empty document in front of me, waiting to be filled, and let out a loud groan in defeat.  
I dropped my arms back down, shuffling unenthusiastically through the papers on my desk for the sheet of notes complied for me to fill in the documents, pulling it into place to the side of me. I then turned back to the blank report and filled out the usual details - the report number, the date, the address, the officer that reported to the scene etc. Then I read the next box on the report.  
NAME OF OFFENDER:  
I yawned widely, turning to the notes on my left.  
UNKNOWN  
I frowned. Weird, I thought, maybe this was a new criminal that had refused to disclose their identity – maybe they were running his prints or researching into him.  
I turned to the next box.  
ALIAS:  
I glanced once again at my notes,  
JOKER.  
I could feel my eyes widen and my heart rate increase excitedly. The Joker. This was the case Harvey had refused for me to look at earlier. I couldn’t help but grin – finely something interesting - maybe paperwork wasn’t so bad after all – I might even enjoy filling this one in  
I shifted in my seat, more awake now, and settled myself in to read the report as I copied the notes across.  
TARGET: Gotham General Hospital  
Why attack a hospital?  
POINT OF ENTRY/EXIT: Entry – Unknown Exit – 2nd Floor Window  
Jeez, I thought, he’d jumped from a 2nd story window? I kept reading, really intrigued now.  
METHOD OF ATTACK: chemical/gas, Knife.  
Chemicals? Gas? I had more questions than answers now.  
NARRATIVE:  
The Joker was reported to have been seen at Gotham General Hospital at 02:56. Upon police arrival all exits were blocked off and the hospital was stormed. Security reported blocking the assailant into the left wing of the hospital. Upon gaining access numerous staff members were found poisoned by the so-called ‘laughing gas’ or stabbed to death, others had wounds that may still prove fatal.  
Upon my command, all rooms were searched by officers of the GCPD – no patients appeared to have been harmed by the attacker, but it was noted that a graffitied letter had been written above numerous beds (See attached picture).  
I stopped my writing to dig through my notes once more. Sure enough, there – attached to the by a paper clip to the back of my notes - were several photographs, each of different rooms and each with a letter written above them in bright red paint that spelled TOLGELOWBEM.  
I then noted a small black number in the right-hand corner of each of the photos that indicated the room number each picture was taken in. I immediately rearranged the photos in the order they would have been in, had you walked down the hospital corridor, soon realising it was spelling something out.  
GET WELL BOOM  
I was left with one last picture.  
This one wasn’t of a patient’s room, but of a door whose lock had been busted open by something that had singed the wood around it. There was no letter this time either, instead - drawn with the same red paint – there was a large red smiling face, much like a emoticon or sticker you’d get from a teacher at school - but this face had eyebrows drawn on, low and pointed, which gave it a menacing, almost bloody thirsty look.  
I turned back to writing out the report,  
The message led me to believe a blast was planned and I directed fellow officers to evacuate patients immediately.  
Unfortunately, the explosion occurred only moments later, and – though the explosives were deemed to be small scale and destroyed only the medical supply closet and the room’s adjacent – we still lost Officer Raden and 2 patients. Others sustained reasonable injuries.  
The Joker’s whereabouts were confirmed to me later when I approached a fellow officer amongst the patrol cars outside Gotham General, who informed me that witnesses had seen a man jumping from the 2nd floor before the explosion had occurred. By the time any officers reported to this area there were no traces of the criminal.  
Later the patient’s rooms were searched again for evidence, however the only thing that was found was a playing card under the pillows in each bed. (see picture).   
I flung my notes around again, looking for the missing picture. Finally, I saw it hidden beneath my finished pile of reports. I pulled it out. It was a picture of a playing card – the Joker card. Clearly, he left a calling card.  
I placed the picture aside, and continued with the report.  
STOLEN VEHICLE: N/A  
RECOVERED BY: N/A  
STOLEN PROPERTY: UNKNOWN  
TOTAL STOLEN: UNKNOWN  
TOTAL RECOVERD: N/A  
TOTAL DAMAGED: PROCESSING  
I finished off writing up the rest of the little nitty gritty boxes – though I felt like I was filling in UNKNOWN or N/A a lot – and finally signed it. I leant back in my rickety chair, staring at the finished document, my imagination whirling with the information, painting the scene in my own mind.  
Damn, I wished I had been there. I had spent my whole life – particularly the last few years during my studying - just reading about these things. Now I was finally in the position to be a part of it and I was still held back, forced to sit here and write till my hand no longer functioned.  
I scowled at my desk, now thoroughly fed up. I definitely needed to go to bed.  
But at the same time, I knew now sleep would escape me, my mind too busy working on the case.  
Why make the effort to write the message on the wall? I wondered. Why hint at what was about to happen? Why not just do what you came to do and get out of there before the police had come? The guy had wasted precious time by doodling on the walls and door – it was risky and unnecessary – so why?  
And what had he actually been there for? The report gave no indication if anything had been stolen but there had been a few deaths – had he been there to murder someone? But if he had, why an explosion? Why not just slip into the room – like he had obviously been able to do – and kill them with the knife or this ‘laughing gas’ poison – whatever that was – instead of taking out a huge chunk of the hospital? He might have even been able to get away with that and be miles away before every knew. And why leave the playing card behind?  
It was a weird crime. An odd crime. Nothing really made sense. I didn’t know if it was due to the lack of details or the just the crime itself.  
I read through the report again. Every aspect seemed confusing to me, excessive, theatrical. It was like the crime alone was too boring for the guy, he had to make it more dramatic.  
This man was definitely intriguing, I thought with a frown - nothing he did made any sense. I just wished I could know a bit more about him, but Harvey had been adamant about keeping the case file away from me.   
Suddenly I sat up, glancing around the pillar and surveying the room again. No one in sight. I knew there was a chance some people were still in the building – the forensic team seemed to be the type to stay late - but the main hall that I – and Detective Bullock’s desk – sat in was empty.  
I stood up abruptly, stretching again, letting a few more joints pop, before I gave the room another glance around, and then headed for my target across the room.  
It was a long shot that it would be there, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.  
His desk was a mess. There was a cup of cold coffee sat at the top of the desk, next to which, sat an empty takeaway container which seemed to have been home to something rather greasy. I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the lingering scent coming from the polystyrene box, trying to focus my attention on the rest of the desk which was filled with papers stamped marked with coffee stains and completely out of order.  
I wasn’t a neat freak, but this was ridiculous.  
I carefully sifted through the papers, trying not to move them too much from their original position – though I doubted he’d notice – all the time searching for one key word – Joker.  
I had no luck on the desk top, so I turned to the few drawers underneath, praying that Harvey was as lazy and cocky as he looked, and wouldn’t have bothered to lock them.  
My suspicions were correct and the first draw I pulled at opened easily, revealing note pads hidden amongst a number of chocolate wrappers. No sign of the file.  
I frowned, dropping down to the next drawer. This one was stiffer and I had to wriggle it a bit to work it open. Eventually it slid free and I dug around amongst a few scraps of paper and memos to finally find a pile of case files.  
I lifted them out all out, flicking through them until, there - the fourth one in – was the ‘Joker’s’.  
I grinned triumphantly, carefully replacing the rest of the pile back in the drawer and sliding it closed again, before I skipped quickly back to my desk – though the chance of anyone catching me was slim – her heart pounding from the risk I had took and the excitement of my find.  
Safely seated back in my uncomfortable wooden chair, I unfolded the file on my desk.  
The first thing that caught my attention was the lack of picture of the person in question. It surprised me for a moment, but it was possible that whatever photo they had was being used to hand out to people when questioning for his whereabouts.  
I didn’t waste too much attention on this peculiarity, focusing instead on the rest of the file.  
NAME: UNKNOWN ALIAS: JOKER  
GENDER: MALE HEIGHT: 6’5” WEIGHT: 192IBS  
ADDRESS: UNKNOWN  
PREVIOUS CONVICTION(S): THEFT, ARMED ROBBERY, MURDER, ARSON, KIDNAPPING … –   
He was a criminal – that was sure given his very extensive list of criminal acts – but why had Harvey been so insistent on not letting me see this information? As far as I could see, there was nothing that unusual about him – so what made him different to any other criminal? Or was Harvey going to act like this about every case? Did he just think I couldn’t handle the ‘big scary criminals’?  
I read the file again, the information was vague and not very detailed – maybe people knew him enough about him it didn’t need to be written down?   
The only odd thing I could see was that he had no name – did he really have no name? And – something that just caught my eye – he was an escapee from Arkham Asylum – the looney house just outside of the city.   
That might explain the oddness of his most recent crime.  
But how had a mad man managed to escape from the prison-like asylum? And surely a raving lunatic running around the streets of Gotham wasn’t difficult to find, right?   
So why had he been free for – I glanced at the date of his escape – over 2 months!  
Surely someone had seen him by now? Tracked him down?  
I raised an eyebrow at the file in confusion - was I missing something?  
I spent a few more moments reading over the case file and the report again, only becoming more frustrated with the increase of questions in my mind and the lack of information I had.   
Eventually I gave up. I tidied up my desk ready for my return the following morning, dreading the pile of work that still remained on my desk. Finally, I reluctantly closed the Joker’s case file – after convincing myself there was no way I could get away with taking it home - and returned it silently to the drawer in Harvey’s desk.  
I grabbed my stuff and headed out of the old building and back to my flat, my mind still filled with the enigma that was the ‘Joker’.   
I was sure of one thing.  
I wanted in on this case.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its taken so long for me to write guys, I've been super busy (and yet I feel like I've done nothing!) I really want to keep on top of my writing though, because I do enjoy it!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new part, hopefully the Joker will actually appear in the next chapter!
> 
> If you would be so kind as to leave a message if you like or hate it I would that! I love reading your comments, it really helps me with motivation and improvements!

I sighed heavily as I tossed another document on my pile of completed papers to my right before then throwing my pen down next to them and rubbing in exhaustion at my face. I was already feeling the effects of my very early morning start. I peered through my fingers at the rest of the large hall filled with other people’s desks, craning around my good ol’ pillar to get a decent view. Most of the desks were still empty, but the room had slowly filled up since I had arrived in the early hours and a few people milled around, in no rush to start the day.  
I dropped my hands and turned my aching eyes back on the still-to-do pile on my left. It was smaller, but it was still going to take most of the rest of the morning at least. I had got here early in an attempt to catch up on the intimidating pile of work I had been so kindly given yesterday. I had hoped that the sooner I got this paperwork out of the way, the soon I could get onto something more excited – or at least the sooner I got some free time to dig further into this Joker character. Plus, there couldn’t be anything wrong with showing I was willing to work hard for this job - earn some brownie points.  
Every time the main door opened I found myself glancing around the pillar at it, watching the officers come in for their shift. I tracked the newest man now as he made his way across the large room, I didn’t know the man’s name yet but my procrastinating eyes followed him anyway, until a woman crossed his path and my eyes shifted to her instead as she strode back the way the man had come from. She didn’t exit the precinct, instead she took a left and disappeared down a short corridor before I heard a quiet thud as a door closed behind her. Bingo. That had been what I was waiting for.   
I didn’t get up immediately. I didn’t want to seem too eager - after all Hatty had clearly only just come in. Miss Hatty Hawkins, the keeper of the files.   
I was getting fidgety as the minutes ticked by, I didn’t want to rush in there as though I had been waiting for her to arrive – although I had been - but I also knew I had a limited amount of time to get what I needed.  
I left it 20 agonising minutes before I felt safe to ‘causally’ wander in to the file room.  
“Morning Miss Hawkins.” I smiled warmly as she bent over her desk, gathering up a pile of files. She glanced across at me, still bent over.  
“Good morning, Fran.” She replied back formally, though not unkindly. She was a polite, rule follower, never questioning what her duties were or how to do them. This might be difficult.  
I waited until she had finished her arrangement and had straightened back up. “What can I do for you this early?”  
I gave her a small smile at her observation, “I just need all the files you’ve got on the Joker.” I said.  
Hatty’s kindly face clouded over, a slight frown shadowing her face. “You know I can’t give you those, Fran, you’re not cleared for them.”   
“Oh, no I know!” I said quickly, a look of surprise on my face at the suggestion that I would want them. “They’re not for me, they’re for Detective Bullock.” I explained.  
“So why isn’t Detective Bullock here, picking them up?” She asked suspiciously.  
I raised a single disbelieving eyebrow at her, “Come on, Hatty.” I said, “It’s Bullock. I haven’t been here all that long, and even I know what he’s like.” Of course, this was all I guess. I hadn’t been at the precinct that long, but I knew the Harvey Bullock character and I could predict his behaviours just from the few brief encounters I’d managed to get with him.  
Hatty grimaced at the truth in words, nodding her head from side to side in agreement before she headed deeper into the recesses of the room. I waited patiently at the desk as I heard filing cabinet drawers slide up and shut and the flicker of paper as she thumbed through the folders. Eventually I heard her heals clicking back down the room towards me and she emerged once more clutching a small stack of files.  
“These are all the cases he has been associated with.” She told me, handing the pile over, “Bullock already has his general information file.” She pointed out.   
I thanked her and headed back to my desk, trying to make sure I was walking like I wasn’t stealing criminal documents.   
I got about an hour with the files before Bullock appeared at my desk. I was quite impressed, I thought he wouldn’t be in for at least another half an hour. Maybe he hadn’t actually got drunk last night – as hard as that was to believe.  
“According to Hawkins,” He said as he strolled up to my desk, “you have something for me.” He raised his eyebrows in expectation. “That you should have delivered hours ago.” He added with a grumble when I tried to look at him with blank innocence. I rolled my eyes, clearly having been caught and gathered up the files, handing them reluctantly over. “Congrats on your initiative.” He quipped, grabbing the papers from me, “Next time work on your punctuality.” He began to move away but paused, glancing back, “And stay away from this case.” He said grumbled. “I’m sick of saying it.”  
I smirked at his back as strode away. “Tough luck Harv, your punctuality was no better.” I muttered quietly to myself once he was out of earshot. If he had actually come to work on time, he might have been able to stop me, but, despite my short time with the random patches of information, I felt like I had gathered something – even if it was just a snippet. Too bad I wouldn’t be able to pull that move again.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Several months later, I might have forgotten the Joker if there hadn’t been several identical hits on hospitals, one a week after the first attack, then several more scattered through the last few months.  
But there had been no new information. No new leads. No better idea of what he was after. No idea why he was doing this.  
And me? The months I had been working here? All I had been given was more paper work than I had ever had during my years at school. It was getting ridiculous. I knew I was a rookie, but I would be a rookie forever if they didn’t let me get some experience out in the field. The most I had got was a short bought of traffic work a few weeks ago thanks to staff shortage. Admittedly, I would take that over the huge stacks of paperwork that always appeared on my desk each day, but I still craved more.  
I continued to try to work hard on the papers – hoping somehow it would prove my worth to the precinct. But I could feel my fuse burning out, and I was beginning to procrastinate more and more, my mind still turning to the unsolved case of the Joker. I didn’t care that I wasn’t on it - I had made my bed with that - but I hated how long it was taking these well experienced, weathered police officers. Why hadn’t they found anything? Surely they must have had some break through?   
Yet I had still heard nothing about it - and I was keeping all my ears out for even a whisper relating to this mysterious criminal.  
And so, my mind kept coming back to the hospital attacks. There was something odd about it all. All the attacks had been the exact same. He always created an explosion in a storage cupboard, then vanished into thin air before anyone could get close, always leaving a calling card behind in the form of a joker playing card.  
I pulled my head away from the page of work I had been trying to read whilst these thoughts turned in mind. I had no idea what I had just supposedly read, and I pushed the folder away in frustration. Why the hospitals?! I demanded in my head, staring at the pillar directly in front of my desk. The Joker had even gone back to the hospitals he’d already attacked, and, even with the increased security, he had done the exact same thing in each of the wings – always escaping before anyone could catch more than a glimpse of him. It was like he was toying with us – like he was finding some perverse fun from all of this.  
But that couldn’t only be it. He couldn’t be going through all this effort for ‘fun’. Sure, I might believe the psychopath capable of that if it was a one off, or a couple, but this was clearly following a pattern and something about it felt strategic.  
I grabbed a notepad and scribbled out a list of everything from the crime scenes that I could remember was the same. The bombs. The cards. The storage room. The disappearing act.  
I tried to justify each other point: He had to disappear, or he’d get caught. Tick. He needed the bombs to create enough distraction to escape. Tick. The playing cards were just his calling card, his signature to say it was all his work. Tick. The storage room. Why always a storage room? Easy place to plant the explosives and camp out till he was ready to set them off? Tick.  
I pursed my lips in frustration, before turning my attention to the single drawer in my worn little desk. I pulled it open, extracting a very crumpled, well used piece of paper. I unfolded it, reading the word I knew off by heart, the few scraps of information I had gotten from the Joker’s folder before Harvey had taken it from me, I had written it from memory, though I knew I was missing things.  
Most of what I had read, and memorised, was on the effects of his so called laughing gas. It wasn’t much to help me to track him down, but at least it was some information. It mainly listed the different subtypes of the gas the joker had produced, and the varying effects they had on people - some knock outs, some poisons, some instant, some slow, and painful. All had the same characteristic signs – uncontrollable laughing and a permanent grin left on the victims face at death.  
This gas was fascinating – as much as it was nasty. This Joker character was quite a chemist. But it made me wonder how he did it. What was this gas?  
Wait. Of course. The gas was made of multiple different chemicals. That means that he’d need a supply. Maybe he got them off the black market - maybe he stole them. Both were just as risky as the other.   
But where were there always certain gases? Especially knockouts. Hospital storage rooms.  
But it was only a suspicion. I needed some proof. There was nothing to say that he was stealing gas canisters. He might have just destroyed them all in the explosion and I was completely barking up the wrong tree. Maybe I was just thinking too much. Maybe he was just insane.  
I needed to figure out what was in those storage cupboards and what was in that laughing gas.   
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn’t take much digging to find out what was in each storage room of the hospital – anaesthetic gas canisters, pure oxygen and – surprisingly – nitric oxide. I frowned at this piece of information – a toxic gas in a hospital cupboard? - but after further research I found an article published by the medical researchers at the Gotham General Hospital that said there was new medical research that suggested poisonous gases such as nitric oxide could be used in small doses to aid the healing of wounds.  
My next question was, what was in this Joker venom? I only knew one place where I might get this information.  
I knocked on the doorframe of the open doorway to the police lab. “Hello?” I called into the empty room.  
“Eh huh?” I heard a man’s voice call back from somewhere.  
I stepped in, glancing around for the source of the voice, taking in the chemical equipment lining the sides and the locked cupboards of chemicals. I was examining what appeared to be a slide of blood when I heard a cough behind me. “Can I help you, ma’am?”  
I spun around to see a man with shaggy sandy hair in a lab coat, his hands clothed and stained. “Uh, yes. I need to ask a question.” I said.  
“Shoot.” He said, folding his arms and leaning back on the counter behind him, dangerously closed to a corker beaker of yellow fluid.  
I folded my arms and leant back on the table behind me, mimicking his posture. “What happens if you combine nitric oxide with the Joker’s toxin?” I asked outright - no good beating around the bush.  
“You mean the Joker’s poisonous gas?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.  
“Yep.”  
The man eyed me suspiciously. He bowed his head before lifting his head to meet my eyes again. “Wouldn’t know,” He admitted. “No one know what is in that laughing gas.” He told “– except maybe batman.” He joked with a slight smile.  
I played along, giving him a small smile. “What if I got you a sample?” I asked.  
He frowned at me like I was joking. “Good one.” He smirked, “No one knows where his warehouses are or where he gets it from. It’s impossible to track down the source.”  
“I can be very persistent.”  
He quirked a half smile at me and I couldn’t help but think he looked pretty handsome, the light overhead catching in his curls. “You’re that new girl aren’t ya?” He asked, readjusting his seat on the counter.  
“I wouldn’t say new anymore…” I teased him, “I’m Fran.” I said pushing myself off from the table, stepping toward the man and holding out my hand in greeting.  
He smirked at my actions, before copying me, “Sam.” He said, gripping my hand firmly, but kindly.   
I chatted with Sam for a while longer, though we didn’t touch any further on the Joker gas. I asked about some of the odd chemicals around the room and he let me rant about the frustrations of being confined to a desk.  
I left the lab feeling slightly more cheerful – after all I felt I had finally made a friend at my work – though I hadn’t managed to get any further with my idea on the Joker’s toxin. I was however, still determined to get to the bottom of its components, even if I had to make the thing myself.  
As I walked back to my desk I suddenly a hand grabbed my shoulder from behind and bring me to a halt, causing me to stumble back slightly. I glanced over my shoulder to the owner of the hand and came face to face with a familiar, rough beard and weathered features of Bullock.  
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, kid.” He warned, glaring down at me with suspicion in his eyes. “What did I tell you about digging into this?” he demanded, his tightening his grip and causing his fingers to bite into my skin.  
I turned to face him fully, causing him to release my shoulder. “I don’t know what you mean, I was just chatting to Sam.” I said innocently, trying to ignore the ache left in my shoulder.  
“Don’t think I don’t know that you’ve been sneaking around and eaves dropping.” He snapped.  
I knew he wasn’t buying any act of mine. “Look, Harvey.” I began with a heavy sigh, “I really think I’m on to something now.” I insisted, pleading with him to hear me out.  
“He’s insane kid, he’s not up to anything.”  
“He’s not though! Don’t you get it – it’s an act!”  
He snorted dismissively, “And how do you know this, hmm? Do you know this freak? Are you buddies? ‘Cause if so, speak up, you’d be the key to finally catching that psycho!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. I did saying anything, lowering my head in defeat. Harvey saw he was winning and pushed on, “Now, that man is a cold-blooded psychopath who doesn’t do anything for any reason other than to cause chaos and suffering.”  
“But he’s doing something behind all these hospital hits!” I insisted, “– there is a purpose behind all of them!”  
“If there was, don’t you think we would have found it by now?” Demanded Harvey. “Keep your nose out of things you know nothing about and stay away from this case - or I’ll have you permanently benched by the commissioner.” He warned.  
“You can’t do that!” I cried out angrily.  
“No,” He admitted, with a tilt of his head, “but I can get you benched for at least the year – an uncooperating, disobeying, mouthy little rookie like you – easy to convince that you’d be dangerous sin the field.” He pointed out, “And I’ll just suggest that a little time out would be just the right thing to teach you a lesson - I’m sure my good friend Commissioner Gordon would agree.” He said slyly. I stared at him hard, trying to find the bluff in his words, but the triumphant smirk on his face made me know I wouldn’t find anything. I sighed heavily, feeling deflated and beaten. Harvey patted my sore shoulder heavily before beginning to amble off to his desk.  
“Oh.” He called, stopping and turning back to me, “By the way, kid - stop showing everyone up with your speedy paperwork - no one likes a teacher’s pet.” I scowled at his back as he strode away, pleased with himself.   
Now I felt really deflated.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next part! i wrote it as part of my fan fiction advent calendar I'm doing throughout December, but its not particularly Christmasy - ok it's not Christmasy at all!  
> But at least the Joker is finally in it!  
> Hope you Enjoy! Sorry it's taken so long to get it written!

To say that I listened to Bullock would be considered more than a lie. I didn’t drop the Joker’s case. I couldn’t.  
Instead, I was very careful to avoid working on it whilst I was at the station, instead, bringing the work back to my tiny flat to work on through the night. My only problem was - it was taking its toll on me.  
My hours at the station were still full of paper work and phone calls, and then, when I got home, I spent the night working through any of the tiny leads I had to the infamous clown criminal’s whereabouts.  
I felt I was finally managing to narrow down several spots that he might be found at, so I now spent my nights checking out these locations for hopes of a sign of the man.  
So far, no luck. He didn’t appear to stay in the same place twice, and – going by the conversations I was having with the regulars – I was always a couple of steps behind him.  
It was frustrating and not helping my sleep deprived mind.  
Several times at the station I had been asked why I looked so tired and I had lied about a family emergency keeping me up most nights. They’d offered to give me a few days off, but the last thing I wanted to look was weak, and I had politely declined them on the fact that I was sure it would be dealt with soon and I could manage for now.  
Except it wasn’t being dealt with soon.  
I wasn’t getting anywhere with all these late nights at clubs, and I was running out of options. I knew I didn’t have every location the Joker frequented, so I couldn’t estimate how long I would have to wait until he revisited on of the places I had been to – there was no way it was practical for me to go to the same club every night for a month to find the man – besides, the staff might get suspicious and warn him. There was a reason the Joker was never where the police thought he’d be. He must have eyes everywhere.  
I yawned widely as I looked up the second to last address I had to visit - planning to check it out in a few hours.  
It was called Club 52 – seemed promising. I dressed up like I had every night this week, putting on the nicer clothes I owned – though even they still weren’t particularly impressive thanks to my limited budget.  
When the cab pulled up outside the club that night I felt the familiar nerves hit me. I’d never been much for the clubbing scene, but I would have to get rid of Freya and become Officer Killian - a woman who didn’t care about the intimidation of the sweaty mass of people writhing to the music in the small dance floor space beyond the doors.  
I braced myself when I got to the front of the queue, pushing my way confidently into the main room, the heat and humidity hitting me straight away and making me want to bulk. I shifted my purse, so it sat more securely on my shoulder, and I pushed my way through to the bar on the opposite side of the room, and found a spare bar stool, ordering a cocktail whilst I surveyed the scene around me.  
I could easily have completely missed him if I hadn’t been watching the right corner of the room at the right time. But, sure enough, I caught a glimpse of green hair and pale skin against the back wall, through the mass of people. I almost couldn’t believe I’d seen it – I wouldn’t have trusted myself to not have been hallucinating by this point just to end this hopeless goose chase. And when I looked back there was no sign of him.  
But it was the only lead I’d had so far at any of the locations I had tried. Time to follow it up.  
I slid off the barstool, drink in hand, and wound my way through the bodies to the edge of the room where I had seen the small flash of a possible sighting. When I got there - not surprisingly - there was still no sign of him, but there was a doorway that must lead into the back of the club.  
I tired the door, and was surprised to find no extra locking mechanisms to keep any drunken people out, but I didn’t hesitate long, stepping through the door, though I reached inside my purse and gripped the gun I had hidden inside.   
Maybe I should have considered ringing back up. Or though, who was I kidding? No one would believe me - and Bullock was likely to complete his threat and get me removed from any small chance I had for field work.  
No, I was going to have to go this alone. I just needed to not be seen.  
The corridor directly after the unguarded doorway was completely empty as well. That was good for me, but I couldn’t help but wonder that maybe I was wrong about the criminal activity here – maybe it was just an innocent backstage of the club for the staff.  
The corridor seemed to run the length of the rest of the club, with a few doors leading off that looked like they led to storage rooms. That was, until I noticed a door that had been left ajar just a few metres ahead. When I peered through, it appeared to lead to a step of stairs that was clearly blocked off from the general staff usually.  
Bingo.  
I crept up the dark steps, not daring to search for a switch or get out my torch, instead I felt my way in the darkness, tripping on the edge of a few of the steps. At the top, I reached another door, but froze when I heard voices on the other side.  
“Where are the canisters?” Growled a low voice.  
“At the drop off point, Boss.” Replied another masculine voice. Canisters? He must mean the gas canisters. This had to be the Joker.   
“Pick them up.” Came the order. “You know what to do with them.”  
“Yes, Boss.” There was a pause. “What are you going to do, Boss?”  
“Curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it Frosty?” Teased the growling man, and I could almost hear the creepy grin in his voice. “I’ve got a few things left to take care of here…”  
“What about the –“ ‘Frosty’ began before he suddenly stopped like he had been silenced by a gesture from the other man.   
“Don’t worry so much, Frosty…” He leered, “I’ll just take the back door.”  
Bingo. He clearly knew something was wrong – whether he knew I was here, or if someone else was after him – but either way I knew where he was going to be, and I could finally catch him.  
I quickly slipped back down the stairs, my heart skipping a beat when I missed the last step, but I recovered quickly, hopefully not making too loud a thump when I fell, and hurried further down the corridor to the back of the building.   
Sure enough, at the end of the corridor, was a fire door with a heavy metal push mechanism to open it. I slipped out and found myself in the freezing wintery alleyway around the back of the club. I slipped silently behind the large industrial bins opposite the door, hugging my arms close to my body and pulling out my phone.  
Though the Joker was only one man, I wasn’t underestimating him, despite what Bullock might think. Now I knew I had him, I’d call for back up - though I wouldn’t say it was me.  
“911, what’s your emergency?”  
“I need the police at Club 52, Hindle Avenue. The Joker is here.” I hurriedly gave the rest of the details in a gruffer voice with a slight accent. No one knew me that well yet to distinguish my voice. I was told a squad was on their way and to hang tight and hide or try to vacate the premises if I could. I remained behind my dustbins, teeth chattering against the bitter wind and my eyes trained on the door, not knowing how much time I had until the criminal tried to make his getaway.  
Not much it seemed.  
Barely 5 minutes after I had hung up, the door swung open and the Joker strolled out, trigger off the security light above the club door. I peered out around the edge of the bins and watched the man look up and down the alleyway before his eyes settle on the bins I was hiding behind.  
“I must say, I’m impressed, ya’ know.” He said clearly across the alleyway. “You’re the first one to actually manage to track me this far… You must be new…” He mused, a sly smile spreading across his face.  
I didn’t know how he knew where I was, but there was no point pretending I wasn’t there. I unfolded myself from my hiding place, stepping out from behind the bins and training my gun on him.   
It was the first time I had seen him in person. And he didn’t disappoint.  
He was quite tall and rather thin, though his white shirt - open at the top two buttons - and purple suit seemed to fit his figure perfectly – I guess he had the money for tailor made clothes. His face was narrow and gaunt with a prominent chin and sharp cheekbones. His eyes were slightly sunken and dark like he hadn’t slept in weeks, but his eyes were full of character and drew me in. However, the most eye-catching things were his smile - painted a bright red and the makeup extending past his natural smile and up his cheeks – and his hair which was spiked up in a wild, yet somehow styled way - the green colour still vivid even in the poor lighting from the security light above the club door.  
Throughout my entire surveillance of him, I didn’t say anything.  
“Clown got your tongue?” The Joker teased, then gave a loud cackling laugh at his own joke, a haunting sound that made my blood cold.   
“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say –“ I began, keeping my gun aimed at him, and trying to keep my voice steady despite my sudden nerves and the cold that bit at my skin.  
“Oh, don’t worry about that…” Drawled the Joker, dismissing it with a causal flick of his hand, “It’s not necessary.” He grinned. For a man with a gun trained at his chest, he seemed very relaxed.   
“- can be used against you.” I continued, and the Joker sighed loudly at my persistence. “You have the right to an attorney –“  
“I think I lost that right years ago.” Muttered the Joker as he listened to my speech, tapping his foot on the tarmac and flicking his hand impatiently, waiting for me to get it over with. “Are you done?” He asked irritably when I eventually stopped.  
I nodded.  
“Good, can I go now?” He asked, pointing down the alleyway and for all I could tell he seemed to be genuine. I frowned at him, not playing his games.  
All of a sudden, the sound of sirens punctuated the air. “Ahh…” The Joker said, rolling his head, suddenly seeming to understand, “You called back-up. You’re not as stupid as I thought.”  
Despite the fact he now knew there were more cops arriving, he still didn’t bother to make an attempt to leave - In fact, he seemed to be waiting patiently for them.  
It didn’t take long, there was a screech of brakes and I could see the lights flashing against the brick wall at the entrance to the alleyway. Now I just had to wait for someone to find us.  
Finally, someone decided to scout the alley, spotting me, and then the Joker opposite and crying for his colleagues. They ran up the small distance to us and, as they came into the reach of the security light, I recognised a few of them – none of them I was happy to see.  
Officer Parkins was the first one to finally acknowledge me. “Miss Killian. Should have known you’d be behind all this…” He drawled, swaggering up to me – he was almost as bad as the Joker.  
“That’s Officer Killian to you.” I snapped at him, too tired and irritable to put up with his bullshit right now.  
“Oooo kittens, got claws.” Grinned the Joker at the two of us.  
“Shut up, clown.” Snapped Parkins, the Joker just grinned wider, clearly enjoying that he’d hit a nerve.  
Parkins turned back to me, “Alright Killian, we’ve got it from here.” He said, brushing me off.  
“No way!” I snarled. “This is my case! I tracked this guy down this far!”  
“Last time I checked, you were an innocent bystander – at least, that’s what my radio said.” He grinned, and I faltered. Damn I knew that would back fire somehow.   
Making the most of me wavering, Parkins signalled to his men to secure the clown. They moved in on him from all sides, so he was surrounded, all with guns trained on him in case he made any sudden movement. “Hand over your weapons, Clown.” Ordered Parkins from behind the wall of cops. The Joker obliged him without protest, a content smile on his face as he pulled out 2 pistols from within his jacket and a pen knife from his trousers. He held them out agreeably, but no sooner had Parkins grabbed them, then an invisible signal seemed to be given and a well-aimed punch hit the Joker straight in the chest, winding him and causing him to double over.  
“Hey! That wasn’t necessary –“ I cried, stepping forward.   
When the Joker finally got enough air back in his lungs he let out a loud, echoing laugh that seemed to bounce off the walls around us.   
The next hit was a fist to the face, knocking him sideways, but he managed to catch himself and remain on his feet. “Stop it!” I snapped, pulling at the arm of the guy who threw the punch, but he just shook me off like an irritating fly, not taking his eyes off the laughing Joker, whose lip was now freely bleeding.  
The hits came faster now, from all sides until he fell to the floor, curled into a protective foetus as much as he could, but still laughing and grinning the whole time, despite the blood pouring from his possibly-broken nose and cut lip.  
I tired as hard as I could to break the Officers out of their beating frenzy, wrenching their arms backwards as they went to hit, trying to shove them off balance so their aim went wide. Eventually one of the men I was trying to pull back from the Joker’s prone figure, shoved me backwards and I tripped over my own feet landing heavily on my behind and grazing my hand where I flung my arm out, crying out in pain.  
The officer turned to me with an sick twisted smile, “See, this is why women shouldn’t be cops.” He leered, “They can’t handle it when things get dirty.” Content with this statement, and me lying on the floor, he turned back to this enjoyment of beating the Joker bloody. I, however, was not content to leave it there, and I scrambled to my feet, pulled at his shoulder so he turned towards me, and punched him squarely in the face. I hit him so hard he went over like a tone of bricks, crashing into the men next to him and – thanks to him being a rather large man – causing a domino like effect, knocking down the next two guys.   
My wrist hurt like hell and I shook it to try to relieve the pain. “You little bitch.” Snarled one of the officers, extracting themselves from beneath the dead weight of the guy I just punched – and now coming straight at me.  
I wasn’t sure what do to, still slightly reeling from punching the other guy, and my attacker took me by surprise by running at me, knocking us both to the ground. My head hit the tarmac hard and I couldn’t help but gasp out in pain again. The man pinned me to the ground, holding my upper arms, but I reached up and grabbed his shoulders, wiggling my legs out from beneath his body and curling them up against my chest, placing my feet on his torso and bracing against him, forcing him backwards enough to then be able to send out several sharp, rapid kicks to his pelvis, stomach and finally connecting with his chin, sending him flying backwards.  
Once he hit the ground, he didn’t move either.  
During this time however, the other officer I had managed to knock to the floor had got up as well, now seeing his other colleague in a heap he, too, turned for me. I was glad I had managed to knock the guns out of their hands when they’d fallen, or else I was sure there’d be a bullet in my head right now judging by the look in the crazed man’s eyes as he came towards me. My knuckles throbbed, and my head ached, I was starting to feel myself tire - I wasn’t how much for of this I could handle.  
The Joker’s laughter continued on, those it was weaker now, as he found it harder to breath under all the kicks landing on his torso. I sought out something to help me, and I caught sight of my gun which had fallen from my hand when I had been knocked over the first time. I scrambled my way backwards and snatched up the gun.  
But then I paused. I couldn’t shoot these guys - they were police officers!  
But I looked at them again and I no longer saw police officers. Nothing they were doing could possibly be considered inside the law. They were just simple thugs. And they were trying to attack me. I could see the look in their eyes when each cop had rounded on me. They weren’t looking to just subdue me - they had wanted to do some serious damage to me.  
I tried to remember back to my police training – only use as much force as necessary to deal with the situation - well my physical strength wasn’t going to be enough anymore. The gun in my hand was my only other method of protection.  
I aimed it at the man making fast advances at me and shot him in the foot. He fell with a cry of agony, but an odd possession seemed to have come over him and - alongside his rage at being shot - he was able to push himself up to his feet, continuing to stagger towards me. I had to do it.  
I pulled the trigger and he dropped down dead.  
The sound of the gunshots snapped the other two men away from the Joker, their attention now on me.  
Their eyes screamed crazy and dangerous. “What are you doing you bitch?!” Demanded Parkins, advancing on me quickly. I didn’t even hesitate this time - as Parkin was still armed with his own gun - and I aimed at his chest, but my hand was shaking too much with the rush of the situation and the bullet went wide, striking his shoulder instead. Parkins faltered, crying out in agony, before he turned on me again, reaching for the weapon in his belt. I shot him again, this time, aiming too low and hitting his stomach, but he went down now.  
The last standing officer looked at what I had done and ran back down the alleyway, towards the cruisers. I watched numbly, knowing that I was done for now. I had murdered one person, possibly two, and who knew the conditions of the other ones.  
Suddenly a hand grabbed the gun from my grip, firmly, but not forcibly, though it didn’t matter as my hands were so numb now, that I let go easily. A single shot went off and the escaping officer fell down dead.   
The gun was dropped back into my lap and a giddy laughter rang out behind me as the Joker slumped back against the wall, bruised, bloodied and out of breath.  
I came slightly back to myself, struggling to my wobbly legs and making my way over to the collapsed clown. Without thinking, I grabbed his limp arm and slapped a cuff onto his wrist, the other I locked around mine. After all of this, I wasn’t letting him get away now.   
But that was all I could manage, and I then fell against the wall next to the Joker, out of breath and energy.  
I stared out at the bodies that lay on the tarmac, Parkins still moaning as he bled out. “What have I done…!” I moaned, putting my head in my hands, exhaustion overwhelming me. The Joker didn’t say anything.  
Suddenly sirens filled the air once more. I snapped my head up, looking down at the alley way as though I could see the police cruisers heading this way. “Shit.” I muttered, “What am I going to do?” I panicked to myself, almost forgetting the criminal that sat next to me.  
“Give the gun to me.” Said the Joker next to me holding out his hand. I frowned at his palm.  
“Um… yeah, no.” I muttered, not in the mood for his jokes.   
“Aww, come on, doll…” He drawled, “I’m your only way outta this.”  
“And how did you work that out?” I asked, humouring him and finally looking at his face - barely managing to stop myself cringing at the site of him.  
Blood stained his pale skin - now mostly dry – from his bloody nose, lip and a few shallow cuts on his cheeks and forehead that continued to ooze slowly. His eyes were puffy and bruised, and his hair was messy and matted in some areas.  
“I’m already in for life.” He grinned, “Killing a few other insignificant cops ain’t gonna change my sentence much.” He winked - as well as he could with his swollen eyes.  
I seriously considered this now. He had a point, but could I live with that? And could I trust him not to turn me in? I didn’t mind giving him the gun – I was pretty sure it was empty now. I eyed him suspiciously and he watched me back with unsettling calmness. He looked sincere, but he was a criminal.  
But… I was pretty sure the gun was empty anyway…  
I handed the gun over. “Much obliged, doll…” He grinned, checking the chamber, I was right – it was empty.  
What I hadn’t bargained for was the Joker digging into his jacket pocket with his uncuffed hand and pulling out several bullets which he expertly loaded into the gun. “Now, doll…” He purred, admiring the gun in his grip, “Let’s go for a little walk.”  
Shit. Shit. Shit. I could have smacked my head on the wall and I almost wished I still had my gun just so I could shoot myself now before the Joker dragged it out. “Why?!” I demanded scowling at him as he trained the gun on me and got to his feet, forcing me to follow him.  
“Aww, don’t give me that look, doll…” He tutted, “I just want to give you a personal tour of this city… You are new after all…” He grinned slyly, a sinful spark in his eye.  
I didn’t say anything.  
“Aww, come on, kitten…” He whined, “This is going to be an even longer night if you’re not going to even talk to me…” He grinned painfully.  
I just glared at him.   
“We’ll work on that.” He dismissed with a wave on his hand, uncaring. “Before we go though…” The Joker drawled looking at me slyly, “Hand over the key.” He declared. I frowned at him, unsure what he meant, but then he gestured with the gun to the handcuffs between us. Understanding hit me and I rolled my eyes in exasperation as I in my pocket for the dug the key and reluctantly handed it over.  
I expected him to uncuff us then, but instead he pocketed it in his suit, patting the pocket, “It’s a big city… Wouldn’t want to lose you…” He grinned devilishly.  
And with a gun in my side, the Joker walked me out the back of the alley - pausing only for a moment to fire one of the bullets in Parkins, silencing his groans of agony – before he dragged me off into the night, the both of us still handcuffed together and the night closing in around us.


End file.
